The little girl walked rather slowly instead, much perturbed in her mind. The Duvernay place joined the Carrick place and at present they were mostly ranged round the Fort. That was much smaller, but better kept and there were even some late hardy flowers in bloom.
"What's all the noise, Posy?" asked Grandfather Duvernay. He was an old, old man, a bright little Frenchman with snowy white hair, but bright dark eyes. He was a good deal wrinkled as became a great-grandfather, and he sat in a high-backed chair at one corner of the wide stone chimney that was all built in the room. There was a fine log fire and Grandmother Bradin was stirring a savory mass of herbs. The real grandfather was out in the barn, looking after the stock.
"It was Kirsty ringing two bells. Cornwallis is taken."
"No!" The little man sprang up and clasped his hands. "You are sure you heard straight! It wasn't Washington?"
"I'm quite sure. And Nelly Mullin said 'run and tell your mother, your father'll be coming home.'"
"Thank the good God." He dropped down in the chair again and closed his eyes, bent his head reverently and prayed.
"Your mother's asleep now. She's had a pretty good night. Run out and tell gran."
Grandfather Bradin kissed his little girl, though he was almost afraid to believe the good news. Three years Bernard Carrick had been following the fortunes of war and many a dark day had intervened.
"Oh, that won't end the war. There's Charleston and New York. But Cornwallis! I must go out and find where the news came from."
"Grandad don't believe it!" There was still a look of doubt in her eyes.